her life.
The area on her upper thigh itched. Though the burn was healed, just thinking of Stephen made her skin crawl.
“That’s right, Charlotte. Now lift the rolling pin carefully and set it on the edge of the pie dish.”
With a little squeaking noise, Charlotte followed direction. She’d created a crust from scratch with flour and butter, mixing it until it was crumbling. Then she’d rolled it and now was trying to lift the delicate dough without it ripping.
The crust started slipping, and she set the pin down so hard on the glass dish she was certain it’d chipped.
To Hank’s credit, he didn’t laugh.
“Just catch the edge there and shift the crust over the apples. Yes, you’ve got it. Now do this.” Maggie held her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart and pointed at the space with her other index finger. She made a motion indicating how Charlotte should seal the edges of the crust.
Her first attempt drew a wheeze from Hank, and she threw him the evil eye. “Don’t you dare make fun of me!”
“I’m not. You’re doing well for a city girl.”
She focused on two more pleats in the crust before considering his words. Since crash-landing in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, she’d learned how to gather eggs without getting pecked and how to drive a stick shift truck. Hank had not bothered to keep from laughing during her jerky attempts.
She didn’t feel much like that girl from Phoenix who’d packed her few belongings and set out on her own. In a short time, she’d learned so much and come so far.
One of the biggest things she’d learned was how strong her libido was. With a gorgeous cowboy nearby, she’d found her sex drive again.
Raking her gaze from his dusty hat to the dark five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and down to the cotton T-shirt straining over his chest, she said, “I think I’m doing well for any girl , not just a city girl.”
“You are, dear,” Maggie said.
“Momma, you’re looking a bit tired. Can I help you to bed? Charlotte has the pie under control.”
“All right. I don’t know why a broken ankle should sap the life from me, but it does. Give me a hand, Hank.” He mostly lifted her from the chair, planting an arm around her so she wasn’t bearing her weight. Then she hopped out of the room.
By the time Hank returned, Charlotte had lost a little of that tingle in her belly she got when he was near.
Then he leaned over her shoulder—warm man who smelled like soap and leather. “Momma says don’t forget to poke holes in the top crust with a fork to let the steam out.”
She picked up a fork and jabbed it.
“You look as if you’re trying to kill it.”
“Kill what?” The unfamiliar voice made her jerk, and she tore a small hole in the crust.
“Damn.”
There was a stampede of boots, and Charlotte found four more sets of amazing hazel eyes on her. She shrank against Hank, and he turned with a smile to the cowboys who were obviously his brothers.
“I thought you guys weren’t coming back till tomorrow.”
“Left early. The wife hu—er, thing we were doing, was slow. We thought we’d better get home to Momma. Who’s this?” The cowboy wearing a denim shirt with pearl buttons was Hank with a few less lines on his face.
“Charlotte, these are my brothers, Cash, Kade, Witt, and Beck.” He pointed them out, and she followed, growing hotter by the second.
“You all look alike.”
As if he’d done it a dozen times, Hank caught her hand and placed it on his chest. The skin beneath her fingers was scorching, even with a layer of cloth between them. “I’m Hank, remember.”
Dead silence filled the room, and Charlotte’s ears burned. She pulled her hand free and practically hid in the oven as she placed the pie inside.
“One lousy pie? That’s it for our homecoming?” The man Hank had pointed out as Cash’s drawl sounded so much like Hank’s.
“That’s our pie—meaning Pa, Momma, Charlotte and me. The rest of ya can go
The area on her upper thigh itched. Though the burn was healed, just thinking of Stephen made her skin crawl.
“That’s right, Charlotte. Now lift the rolling pin carefully and set it on the edge of the pie dish.”
With a little squeaking noise, Charlotte followed direction. She’d created a crust from scratch with flour and butter, mixing it until it was crumbling. Then she’d rolled it and now was trying to lift the delicate dough without it ripping.
The crust started slipping, and she set the pin down so hard on the glass dish she was certain it’d chipped.
To Hank’s credit, he didn’t laugh.
“Just catch the edge there and shift the crust over the apples. Yes, you’ve got it. Now do this.” Maggie held her thumb and forefinger a half-inch apart and pointed at the space with her other index finger. She made a motion indicating how Charlotte should seal the edges of the crust.
Her first attempt drew a wheeze from Hank, and she threw him the evil eye. “Don’t you dare make fun of me!”
“I’m not. You’re doing well for a city girl.”
She focused on two more pleats in the crust before considering his words. Since crash-landing in the middle of Nowhere, Texas, she’d learned how to gather eggs without getting pecked and how to drive a stick shift truck. Hank had not bothered to keep from laughing during her jerky attempts.
She didn’t feel much like that girl from Phoenix who’d packed her few belongings and set out on her own. In a short time, she’d learned so much and come so far.
One of the biggest things she’d learned was how strong her libido was. With a gorgeous cowboy nearby, she’d found her sex drive again.
Raking her gaze from his dusty hat to the dark five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and down to the cotton T-shirt straining over his chest, she said, “I think I’m doing well for any girl , not just a city girl.”
“You are, dear,” Maggie said.
“Momma, you’re looking a bit tired. Can I help you to bed? Charlotte has the pie under control.”
“All right. I don’t know why a broken ankle should sap the life from me, but it does. Give me a hand, Hank.” He mostly lifted her from the chair, planting an arm around her so she wasn’t bearing her weight. Then she hopped out of the room.
By the time Hank returned, Charlotte had lost a little of that tingle in her belly she got when he was near.
Then he leaned over her shoulder—warm man who smelled like soap and leather. “Momma says don’t forget to poke holes in the top crust with a fork to let the steam out.”
She picked up a fork and jabbed it.
“You look as if you’re trying to kill it.”
“Kill what?” The unfamiliar voice made her jerk, and she tore a small hole in the crust.
“Damn.”
There was a stampede of boots, and Charlotte found four more sets of amazing hazel eyes on her. She shrank against Hank, and he turned with a smile to the cowboys who were obviously his brothers.
“I thought you guys weren’t coming back till tomorrow.”
“Left early. The wife hu—er, thing we were doing, was slow. We thought we’d better get home to Momma. Who’s this?” The cowboy wearing a denim shirt with pearl buttons was Hank with a few less lines on his face.
“Charlotte, these are my brothers, Cash, Kade, Witt, and Beck.” He pointed them out, and she followed, growing hotter by the second.
“You all look alike.”
As if he’d done it a dozen times, Hank caught her hand and placed it on his chest. The skin beneath her fingers was scorching, even with a layer of cloth between them. “I’m Hank, remember.”
Dead silence filled the room, and Charlotte’s ears burned. She pulled her hand free and practically hid in the oven as she placed the pie inside.
“One lousy pie? That’s it for our homecoming?” The man Hank had pointed out as Cash’s drawl sounded so much like Hank’s.
“That’s our pie—meaning Pa, Momma, Charlotte and me. The rest of ya can go
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